All Chapters of Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Viola McCoyThe quiet hits first.No horns. No sirens. No clacking heels on pavement or elevator dings. Just birdsong. The rustle of trees. The occasional car crunching down a gravel road.It’s unsettling at first but I settle into it slowly. Like slipping into a bath that’s too hot at first, but soon becomes exactly what you didn’t know you needed.The little house I’ve rented is old but sweet. Pale yellow with white trim. A tiny porch and chipped wooden steps. The kind of place that feels like it holds memories, even if they aren’t mine.I unpack the last box and place it in the corner like a ceremony. I haven’t put anything up on the walls. I don’t know if I want to. It still feels temporary, even though I keep telling myself I left for good.I grab a light jacket and walk.There’s a stretch of road lined with trees that leads into the town center—a small strip with a bakery, post office, diner, bookstore, and a modest little clinic tucked beside a flower shop.I don’t plan on goin

Viola McCoyThe clinic is quiet, save for the scratch of my pen against the ledger and the occasional beep from the front desk monitor. It’s the first morning I’ve felt a little less hollow. Not whole—but not crumbling either.Until the bell rings.I glance up, expecting an elderly patient or one of the nurses returning from break. But instead, I see a small figure standing in the doorway.Big eyes. Light-up sneakers. Crayons tucked in the crook of one arm.And dimples.Missy.My heart lodges in my throat. My grip tightens on the pen until it creaks.She beams when she sees me. “It’s the pretty lady!”Pretty lady.The air whooshes out of me.She skips toward the counter and before I can react, she’s already walked around and into the employee area, wrapping her arms around my legs.“Pretty lady,” she says again, softer this time. “Where have you been?”I can’t breathe. I don’t even know what to say.Her voice is so sweet. So innocent.I finally croak, “How… how are you here?”She grin

Logan Reynolds I see the way Dr Phil looks at Viola.Like she’s already his.Like he’s just waiting for her to give the green light and he’ll swoop in—offering peace and predictability in a way I never could. Dr. Phil Coleman. Small-town golden boy. Perfect teeth, pressed shirts, gentle hands.Yeah, I know his type. And I know exactly what he’s doing.He’s trying to win her over.And I can’t even blame him. Viola’s the kind of woman who makes you believe in something again just by walking into the room. She’s calm and complicated and fierce and broken—and even when she’s silent, she feels louder than anyone else in the room.But if Phil thinks I’m just going to fade into the background and hand her over, he doesn’t know a damn thing about me.I’m not fighting with fists anymore.This time, I’m fighting with patience. With kindness. With small, steady things that build a life.It starts with her mailbox.The little metal thing has been crooked since she moved in. The hinge creaks ever

Logan Reynolds She doesn’t flinch when Missy hugs her anymore.That’s how I know something’s changing.There’s this one moment—small, but I feel it in my bones. Missy wraps her arms around Viola’s waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And Viola, instead of going stiff or stepping back like she used to, simply looks down at her. Her hand brushes through Missy’s hair.She catches me watching from the porch.Her eyes linger.Then she looks away.But not before I see the softness. Not forgiveness, not yet. But something gentler than the ice-cold silence I’ve been living in these past few weeks.And that’s all I need.Later that afternoon, I knock on her door. No coffee offering this time. No grand gestures. Just me.She opens it, one hand braced on the edge of the frame, her sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. Her hold no anger in them tonight.“I was wondering…” I rub the back of my neck. “Want to take a walk?”She stares at me for a second. Then, surprisingly, nods.“

Logan Reynolds The sun’s barely crested the hills when Missy bursts into the living room, her curls wild and a sock half-off one foot. “Are we still going on our big adventure?” she asks, arms already outstretched for me to hoist her up.I grin, ruffling her hair. “Of course we are, kiddo. Get your shoes on—both of them—and let’s pack up.”She giggles and runs off. Viola pokes her head out of the bedroom. She’s got that slow, sleepy smile I used to dream about seeing again. And now it’s real.“You’re really going through with this day trip?” she asks.I shrug and try to keep it casual. “Thought we could all use a little sun. You in?”There’s a pause. I hold my breath. Then she nods. “I’ll grab my sweater.”I don’t let my face show it, but something inside me unclenches.The drive is filled with Missy’s nonstop narration from the backseat. Every cow we pass is a long-lost friend. Every bump in the road is a roller coaster. Viola laughs a little when I flinch at her dramatic gasps—most